Castles In The Air

CHAPTER TWO

I entered our small, dingy house in the trenches of London. My life has been a journey of storm that seemed not to end. We had gone bankrupt, so we had to sell the last property I had; my family house. It had been four months since my father had died and everything had happened. Since then I have been searching for a job or another, applying to all the companies possible as a financial advisor.

If it was only the financial aspect of my life that crumbled, it would have been much better. Unfortunately, my reputation hadn't healed over time. Anywhere I went, they labeled me as "the Perverted CEO's Daughter", and it frustrated all my efforts to start working again.

"Honey, I'm home!..." I called out, as I opened the cheap wood front door that looked like it was about to fall off it's holder and walked into the house.

No answer came at first. Our house was relatively small, so there was no way he couldn't have heard me. Unless...

"Sweetheart?" I called out again, in curiosity and slight worry.

Had he gotten drunk again?

I walked into the pathetic excuse of a living room. Just as I had feared and predicted, he was lying on the couch, empty bottles of alcohol scattered all over the floor.

A heavy scent of something that I did not recognize, mixed with dirty socks hung in the air, and it hit my nose the moment I walked in.

Damn, this place was a mess. I was on the verge of throwing up but held myself strongly.

"Paul... I had been calling your name." I said, a tone of disappointment lacing my voice.

He turned on the couch, trying to sit up and face me.

"Mmmhhh?...." He made an incoherent sound, his eyelids half closed.

How much had he drunk? It was clear from the way he was moving that he was more intoxicated than a sailman.

Suddenly, I noticed some newspapers on the small center table, which was situated before the couch. What the hell was the newspaper doing there? Last I checked, Paul didn't particularly have any interest in reading anything, talk less of the daily paper.

Deciding to check it, I approached the table and picked the twisted thing up. It looked like it had been folded multiple times.

Then, I noticed a white powder in the paper. No.... He couldn't be...

"Paul, what is this?" I instantly swiveled around to face his now-sitting form with wide eyes. I had a hint of what it was but did not want to conclude yet.

"The hell you think it is?" He slurred out, looking at me with bloodshot eyes.

"Co.... cocaine?...." Stammering the word in disbelief and fear that it might be true.

He threw his head back, laughing as if he had just heard the funniest joke of the century. What on Earth was wrong with him?

"... Your..." He wheezed in between his fits of laughter. "... Your face is priceless, man. It's like an innocent child just discovering about s*x. f*****g priceless."

I was confused. Why did he find my shock towards the situation so hilarious? A surge of annoyance filled my veins as I watched him make a complete fool of himself.

"I don't quite understand..." I finally said, after observing him for a few more moments.

"You're acting as if cocaine is such an unusual thing." He finally calmed down.

"It is illegal to possess such." I deadpanned.

"No s**t Einstein."

I looked at him long and hard, resisting the urge to scream in frustration at the way he was so casual about it. I could not believe this was my fiance. He had changed drastically, making it so difficult for me to help myself in the current situation.

"You are doing drugs."

"Damn right, I am."

"You say it like it's something brilliant." I retorted, c*****g a single eyebrow up.

"Isn't it?..." He laughed again, this time coughing in between. "... It's practically your fault anyways."

"What?" What the hell did he mean by that?

"Yes. Well largely your father's, but also yours." He shrugged nonchalantly as if he had said nothing wrong.

"I don't remember pressuring you into doing drugs, Paul. Neither do I remember my father resurrecting from the grave. So why..." I was still speaking when I was cut short by a sudden sound.

"Hah." He laughed out loud.

Had I said something funny?

"What humors you?"

"The fact that you believe that your dad can do that."

"I don't think so. It was a mere comment." Has he become so dumb too?

"I'm glad that you know that he has too many sins."

His comment had the same effect as a Taser on me. I was bombshell shocked that he out of everyone would say such a thing about my late father. I could keep up with his drunken states but saying hurtful words using my late father was something I could never accept.

"What do you mean by that?" I asked, just to confirm and not jump to conclusions.

After all; Paul often had a habit of being honest in the wrong way. I wanted to believe that he didn't mean it the way that I thought he did.

Unfortunately for me, however, his next words did a marvelous job of shattering my hopes in him.

"God, Shasha. Sometimes I wonder if you have a brain or not..."

Ouch. That stung harder than it should have.

"... But since you don't understand, let me elaborate for you, my dear daft bunny. Your father is one sinner who probably has a castle in hell for what he had done."

My mouth hung agape. My ears strongly felt the strange words coming out of his mouth.

"Paul..."

"What? Are you gonna act like this nigga didn't do what he did? You know it's even good that he's dead. He had it coming, and I am glad that justice has been served. Good riddance."

My heart broke as he made that statement. How could he? He knew how my father had been so apologetic because of the way he had treated them, and had even said that he had stopped doing so a month ago.

"Why would you bring my father into this?"

"It's either you pretend to be very stupid sometimes, or you are so."

"What did I do again?"

"I just hate the way you defend your father. He is the one who brought us to this point, isn't he? Yet somehow you just constantly decide to overlook that fact. Don't you feel that if he kept it in his pants, everything could have been avoided? We wouldn't be living in this s**t hole, we would still have money!" He cried, each sentence getting a pitch higher.

"I don't understand what that has to do with drugs. What did I do?"

"You're so f*****g daft, Aisha. Sometimes I wonder why I am with you."

With that, he got up and stormed out of the living room to God knows where. I needed someone to pinch me out of this dream land.